


ThighGHGHGHGS

by ChutJeDors



Series: ThighGHGHGHGS [1]
Category: The Beatles
Genre: Lots of thinking of thighs., M/M, Swearing, Thighs, Thighs., wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 13:33:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7317271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChutJeDors/pseuds/ChutJeDors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul wants thighs. John’s thighs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ThighGHGHGHGS

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ in 20..13..? gosh I'm old. But, yeah. I've checked the whole series through and few words were fixed so that I got a peace o' mind.
> 
> Written because I absolutely, irrevocably hate John Lennon's thighs and if you don't know how utterly ugly they are, I suggest you type "John Lennon thighs" on google and sEE FOR YOURS E L F. disgusting. ew. Basically this whole fic is just me ranting about them. nice
> 
> Also decided to post this as series, not as a multichapter-thing, mainly because the summaries might be a bit better like this idk. I just wanted to do it okay???!?!?

Paul was dying to touch them.

He was fucking _dying_ to touch them.

He wanted to touch them, and stroke them, and pet, and smoothly run his fingers over them. He wanted to caress them and poke them and grab them so hard it would leave bruises on them. He wanted to mark them as his fucking own.

He wanted to press his lips against them, wanted to nuzzle his cheek against them, wanted to meet them with his tongue, wanted to lick them and suck them and _bite_ them and _mark_. He wanted to look at them for so long, wanted to feverish them with kisses, wanted to breath against them, to run his hands up and down before following their moves with his mouth.

It was a torture, to only watch from the distance. He hated it. He hated how it made him so painfully hard, so emotionally unbalanced and so. Fucking. Horny. He wanted to tell the bloody press to fuck off and then tackle the owner of _them_ under the water and _have them fucking rub against him and fuck him and he wAS GOING MAD_...!

He pressed his knuckles against his eyes and rubbed them a bit before sighing deeply. He needed to get inside very soon or this would be no fun anymore, not that it was now. Because he was in pain and he _needed_ to have his hands on them but he just couldn't, because it was so wrong and everything but he _NEEDED THEM_ \---

"Macca? Ev'rythin' alright?" a voice called him and his head snapped up and he smiled his press smile before actually thinking anything.

"Yeah, jus' too much sun I think", he grinned and waved his friend a _nd the owner of them_ to leave it. _He_ frowned, but didn't say anything more and turned and splashed some water over Ringo who was now talking animatedly with those girls that Paul had just moments ago been so interested in. Or so it had seemed to the others probably, but he had been quite busy checking up _them_ and hadn't really found anything intriguing in the female part of their company. Which made him worried. But which he didn't give a single fuck because he was dying.

To have them.

He shook his head and forced himself to turn away and talked to press and to the girls and had fun with the other band members and was trying his all to concentrate on something else too than them but he couldn't. So it was a relief when they finally decided to head back to the hotel and so he went to sleep that night and thought about them and maybe had a wank or two but again he didn't give a shit, because he needed them and so it was not wrong to wank off of the thought of having them slide on top of his own, and he came so forcefully he thought he might have blacked out.

And of course the others heard him groan but that was nothing unusual, so he didn't give a shit.

Because he wanted them and he wasn't going to stop himself from getting them, end of story. Even if it was illegal.

Of course he had to wait to be somewhere _alone_ with the owner of them. And that was going to be so painful, to sit around and wait. And only look at them. Only think about having them on him. Only think about how they would feel under his hands. Only see them every evening when they were heading to bed. Only wank off every night at the thought of brushing his lips against them and bite and suck and lick and worship _and_ _he was going to be so dead_ before the tour was over.

He turned on his side and buried his head into the pillow and really wished he would have chosen some easier time to want them.

***

He had a photograph. A bloody photograph that he had gotten from the paper. He had cut it off of it with scissors and hidden under his shirt until he could safely get into his hotel room and then wank off with it.

They were so beautiful. He felt like crying when he came that night, holding the photo down so he wouldn't mess it. The others were still spending time in the living room and playing cards or whatever, but he had excused himself quite early in an attempt to have some nice private time with his dick and the photo and his thoughts of having them under him this time, getting to press his hands against them and getting to grab them and lift them and lick them and his thoughts were running again and it was no good. He would get hard again and the others could come to sleep any minute now.

So he hid the photo under his pillow, giving it one last admiring look and then turned to face the wall. And when he closed his eyes the only thing he saw was them.

He was so fucking doomed and he knew it.

***

It was a morning when it happened. He had been in the bathroom first and washed his teeth and peed and washed his face and decided not to shower and after that he had been heading back into their room when _he_ suddenly walked in, only a t-shirt and briefs on. Of course that gave Paul a heart attack.

"Paul? Okay?" _he_ asked and leaned closer to Paul, distracting him a bit to be truthful because _they_ were now so close and he wasn't able to think and why was he coming so close anyway, why was it that he came so fucking close and didn't stay few meters away like he had been just moments before...

Of course now, it might have had something to do with it that Paul had banged his back against the wardrobe and let out a hitch-pitched scream and had probably blushed or paled, he didn't know which, and was now shaking all over, or so it felt. Of course the owner of them was worried. He had always been. And now when Paul had been acting quite strangely past few days it was no wonder he was coming... so... close...

"If you fuckin' come any closer I'll fuckin' punch you so hard you'll fly out of that fuckin' window", he breathed and sounded like he was hyperventilating but he couldn't _concentrate_ and the man in front of him stopped and looked so beyond confused Paul wanted to violate _them_. He just wanted. Needed. He needed to calm down and let it go. Just...

"You on your period or what's goin' on??" his bandmate and torturer watched him with wide eyes and raised his hand and placed it on Paul's forehead, "You've got no fever..." He bit his lip and looked wondering and perhaps a bit (or a lot) concerned. "Macca?"

"Just..." Paul breathed heavily and it started to be hard to stand straight (his back still supporting on the wardrobe) and his vision started to blur and he felt the heavy taste of _lust_ in his mouth and he dropped his eyes on _them_ and if he could just lean few centimetres forward he could touch them without much effort and...

"Just?" the other tilted his head and brought his hand to Paul's chin, lifting his eyes so they met his own. "What just?

"Just fuckin'" _Let me touch them and push you on the bed and rub against them and lick them and fuckin' **touch**_ "leave, okay?"

His friend frowned, but eventually nodded, seemingly deciding it was not worth starting to argue with Paul. He turned and walked on the door and Paul had a very hard time not to jump on his back and caress them right there and then because he had pretty nice view on them as the other walked away and then finally disappeared from the door, giving him the last suspicious glance.

Paul's legs gave over and he slumped on the ground, realizing just now how hard he was

It seemed he was going to have to shower this morning after all.

***

Paul was dying.

It had been few months since the tour and he was dying. He was in _his_ house and he was dying. He was supposed to write a new song today but all the words he had come up with were _lick, touch, worship, grab_ and he doubted that would be alright. He had to hide the paper before _he_ would come back.

He was sitting on a piano bench and he was dying. And he was shaking and he could already feel an erection forming and he was so. Much. Dying.

"You've got no idea how much it bothers me that Cyn has a habit _not_ to keep clean pants for me in my closet when I need them most", there was a voice behind him and he turned and saw that _he_ had accidentally spilled the beer on his trousers and they were soaking wet.

"You idiot", he mumbled, tearing his gaze away from _them_ and then he met his eyes, "what're ye gonna do then?"

"Dunno", the other shrugged, "probably gonna be in me boxers, if you don't mind?" He started to undo his belt and walked over to the old sofa, pulled his pants over his bottom and then sat on the sofa and started to take his legs our of his wet jeans.

"No, why would I?" Paul managed to ask before it was too much to look and he turned his face on the empty paper that was resting upon the piano. He really was _so_ screwed now.

He buried his head in his hands and let out a frustrated sigh, getting the attention of his band mate.

"Paul?" he asked and stood up, moved towards him and placed his hand on his shoulder, "you okay?" Then he suddenly chuckled and shook his head, straightening his back.

"It feels that I've been askin' this too much past these months, you've been so weird since Miami... Is it 'cos we had that row?"

They had had a row during the tour and that had made Paul so upset he hadn't even been interested in talking to the cameras and hadn't been in a laughing mood at all. They had sorted it out in Miami, but then Paul had seen _them_ on the beach and now he realized how weird his acting must have been, because he had literally avoided his friend and... Of course he had a right to be worried.

"You think I'm still angry at you? I don't even remember what we fought 'bout", he answered and turned wholly on the bench to meet the other, forced a smile on his face and decided to ignore the lust that was heavy in his chest for few minutes, "It's in me, not in you. Or well..." he trailed off and looked a bit for a while. Actually it was partly _his_ fault also.

"Just say what I can do", his friend said and sat on the bench next to him, looking worried but also determined to make things better between them.

_'He fuckin' thinks it's his fault_ ,' Paul realized and let out a sigh again.

"Listen, it's jus'... I've been kinda avoidin' you to keep myself in control, it's got nothin' to do with you, it'll pass soon, I'm sure."

But the fact was that it wasn't fading. He still wanted them. He was dying. He was dying to get them. And he never would, it seemed. He had been doomed to live in this never ending pain and lust towards them and he would never get to even touch them and his thoughts were running too wild again...

"What're you tryin' to control?" _he_ asked and leaned a bit closer, trying to catch his eye. Paul bit his lip and ducked his head, trying to avoid the eye contact.

"Nothin'", he then just answered and wrapped his arms around himself, "Jus' leave it."

"I've been fuckin' leavin' it about three months, I ain't leavin' it anymore!" he started to sound angry, which was never good, because Paul had a bad habit to shout something unexceptional over the other's rant and that was no good, no good.

"You've been actin' so fuckin' weird an' I can't help but think there's somethin' wrong with you, an' then I think if I've done somethin' wrong, 'cos you won't talk to me, you don't even look at me anymore---"

"Shut up, okay? You've done nothin' wrong!" Paul yelled and jumped on his feet, taking hold of his head with his both hands. "Jus' be quiet okay? I don't... I can't cope with me mind anymore!" he turned to look at his friend that was now sitting alone in front of the piano, only his briefs and a jumper on and suddenly it was so hard to breath again.

"Paul, you know you can tell me what's wrong. You've always told", he now sounded hurt and looked away, making Paul's heart ache. He had never meant to hurt the other.

"Listen to me, please. It's somethin' I can't help, and I've been goin' mad, an---"

"You gay?"

"What?"

They stared at each other and Paul more or lesser gaped at his friend and his mouth was hanging open and now this made no sense, or then it did. He didn't know. Was he? Where had that thought even come to the older man's mind??

"It's okay, I understand if you are, there's no need to freak out with me", his friend started to talk and it sounded like he was ready to go on with it forever so Paul silenced him with one single look.

"I ain't no queer, you idiot", he said softly, but then his tone harshened. "I only... I dunno." He turned his head away and hugged himself again, not knowing what to say. Maybe he should just tell the truth?

"I only fancy your..." he swallowed and glanced at the other, who looked at him eyebrows arched and his lips pursed together in an adorable gesture. And that stopped Paul. Because he had never thought anything else than _them_ , but now he found his eyes drawn to those lips and suddenly he felt a fire inside him and he knew he was going mad.

"You fancy me?" the owner of _them_ and those lips quirked the corner of his mouth and Paul felt blush creep up to his cheeks.

"No! I mean, I don't... No! Maybe! Sometimes! No!" he panicked and backed away, his back hitting the wall when his friend stood up and walked towards him, lifting his hands in a reassuring motion and then, in front of him, he just simply wrapped them around Paul and hugged him, and Paul was now more confused than he had before. Because he had accepted the fact that he wanted _them_ , but not the fact that he might have wanted to also kiss him and maybe... Maybe hug him so hard it would hurt them both..?

And he, in the middle of his confusion, said the name he hadn't said in months, said the name he had refused to think because it would be okay if he wanted _them_ , if they weren't _his_. So he hadn't said his name and hadn't thought about it and...

"J-John", he stuttered and John's hands tightened around him and he felt relief, a huge relief came over him and he might have started crying if he hadn't felt John's lips on his neck. He jerked fast away (as far as he could, as he was kind of pressed up against the wall, almost) and stared at his best friend with wide eyes. John looked at him sadly, but also comfortingly smiling and then he leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together.

"Tell me what you want", he breathed against Paul and Paul had a hard time thinking, what did he want again?

_Oh_.

And without further thinking he grabbed John's shoulders, and pushed him and then John landed against the piano and Paul was there in a heartbeat and he took a hold of John again and pulled his face close to his. They were both breathing hard, and Paul's eyesight was blurry and he couldn't think properly, but there was one thing he needed to make sure...

"Anythin'?" he whispered, and John smiled so beautifully that Paul felt his heart melt and he _needed them_ and the old desire woke up again and he _needed_.

"Anythin'", John answered and that was enough. Paul almost threw him on the sofa and crawled over him, and then his hands were on them and he stopped. He looked at John's eyes and John met his own and Paul swallowed, now suddenly nervous. What if it wasn't okay? What if John would laugh at him for wanting almost only this? What if John was disappointed he wasn't that interested on anything else... yet?

"John..." he said again and it felt so wonderful to say his name. He leaned over the older man under him and John wrapped his arms around him and brought him down on his chest, nuzzling their noses together. Paul smiled happily and let our a quiet sigh.

"This might sound weird", he then started and John pulled one of his spasming expressions on, just asking for Paul to slap him, which he did, "but I've... I've got a thing for your... your..." he blushed vigorously and then, almost too quietly for himself too to hear it, hurriedly breathed, "thighs."

"Thighs? You fancy me thighs?" John stared at him and then he suddenly laughed. Paul tried not to look offended, but luckily he didn't even have a reason to be, as it turned out.

"No wonder, they are nice lookin' fellows, even if I say it meself", the guitarist grinned and hugged Paul tighter and Paul breathed in relief.

"So it's okay if I..." he looked at John's both eyes and John just nodded. And Paul offered a shaking smile and moved then, down, down and then he was facing them, and he took his hands and gently placed them on John's thighs.

He was touching them.

He slowly started to stroke them, none of the men saying a word. The skin under his fingers was so soft, just like he had imagined. He heard John's breath hitch and he smiled, letting his hands explore all of John's thighs before he started to press his fingers harder, his mind started to turn blank and then he couldn't wait anymore and he took hold of the crook of John's left leg and lifted it and then he pressed his lips against it and he thought he would pass out. Because of the noises John made, yes, but the feeling of his skin under his lips, the soft, pale skin of his thighs and he opened his mouth, letting his tongue touch and then he was rubbing his lips against John's inner thigh while running his other hand up and down the other, stroking it and sometimes grabbing it hard, leaving red marks there were his fingers had been.

The more he tasted his desired goal under his lips, the more hungry he became. He started to lick, ran his tongue down, down, until his face was almost at the level of John's boxers (that were somehow looking really uncomfortable at the moment, not that Paul paid any attention. His mind was on thighs). There he nuzzled at the skin and nibbled it gently with his teeth, then a bit harder and John cried out and Paul groaned, just because he could.

He moved his mouth back up towards his friend's knee and then suddenly, without any warnings, bit down so hard it made John shout his name and arch his back, his knuckles turning white where they were squeezing the sofa. After that he just kissed at the place he had bit, but knew this wasn't going to be the only time. He needed more. He started to suck at the skin of John's inner thigh and closed his eyes, moaning in the progress and then, without actually planning it, he surged up towards John's face and grabbed a hold of his shirt, staring at him with lidded eyes.

John was fucking beautiful and Paul marvelled at his eyes that were piercing black and heavy, at his cheeks that were red and at his lips that were wet, because John had been biting his lip to turn down the voices he had wanted to make.

Paul wanted his lips. But that wasn't for this moment. Right now he needed _them_ he needed them _against_ him.

"John..." he said, not quite knowing how to tell his wish without it sounding like some dirty talk. Because he didn't intend to do that. He didn't want it. It would ruin all of this. It would ruin the moment.

"Tell me", John shook all over when Paul's face got closer but paused just ten centimetres away.

"I need them", he started and realized how heavily he was breathing, "on me."

And just like John had understood, he found himself being flipped over and he felt the sofa cushions against his back and he was shaking now. John leaned over him and then he was working on his belt and Paul didn't know what to do with his hands anymore so he placed them on his eyes and pleaded.

"John, fuckin' _please_ ", it came out almost as a sob and John cursed before pulling Paul's trousers down and he threw them on the floor, apparently not caring where they landed. And then he was lying on top of Paul and he took a hold of Paul's hands and moved them from his eyes, and they stared at each other and then John gave a hard thrust with his hips, making Paul's eyes roll on the back of his heads and it was _heaven_.

And John rubbed their thighs together just like Paul had imagined he would.

And all through it, till the moment they both came, groaning in unison and closing their eyes and their foreheads touching, John held his hands and their fingers were wrapped together and that was the thing Paul remembered later on of this. How John held his hands. And how he kissed the top of his nose when they were coming down from those huge blackouts that could as well be described as orgasms.

"Holy shit", John mumbled after he had collapsed with all of his weight on top of Paul, his nose burying itself on the crook of his neck and shoulder. He let go of Paul's hands and placed one of his owns on his shoulder, the other one just resting next to their bodies on the sofa.

For a while Paul didn't do anything, but then he lifted his both hands and wrapped them around John, pressing his nose against his hair and taking a deep breath, smelling shampoo and cigarettes and _John_ , and at that moment he knew he never wanted to let go of that smell. Of John's smell.

"What..." he started then, suddenly feeling very nervous, "what do we do now?"

That was a good question, when he thought about the situation. He had just drooled over his best friend's thighs for almost three months now, and now he had finally achieved his goal, which was to have them. But now there were more things than just John's thighs. There were his lips; his smell, his hands and his beautiful, beautiful smile and he didn't know if he was queer, and that scared him. What if he was queer? What if this was only a one time thing? What if John never wanted to see him again?

"I don't know", John answered and lifted his face, tracing his fingertips on Paul's lips and he looked so stunningly amazing Paul lost his breath and just _had_ to bring his palm rest against John's cheek. The older man's eyes fluttered closed and he pressed his head more against Paul's cheek, and Paul realized the skin was soft. Despite the little stubble there was, mainly because Cynthia was away and John had woken up when Paul had come at 2 P.M, the skin was as soft as in his thighs and Paul stroked it lovingly, admiring the feeling of it under his fingers.

"I don't want to", he started and chocked on his own words, John's eyes snapping open and he smiled at him reassuringly, "I don't want this to be the only time."

"It won't be, if you just want it", John smiled and nuzzled their noses together again, "I do want it."

"I noticed", Paul answered dryly and received a playful slap on his shoulder, "Hey! I was jus' tellin' the truth!"

"Yeah, you were", John grinned mischievously and Paul rolled his eyes, happy to still have this connection with John, happy to have that glint in John's eyes meant only for him.

"No, but seriously, what d'we do?"

"Seriously, I don't know", the guitarist shook his head and let his eyes drop closed again.

"Maybe if we jus'... be together?" Paul grimaced at how it sounded, it would never be possible for them to really be together, but maybe in secret... And did he want John to be his boyfriend? (He grimaced again, because no, that didn't sound right. Maybe lover? That was better.)

"You mean that we would spend time together even more than now?" John asked without opening his eyes and let his thumb draw little circles on Paul's cheek, Paul mirroring his movements with his own fingers.

"No, I mean, yes, but what I meant, is..." Paul sighed frustrated and closed his eyes, slowly moving his hand on the back of John's head, playing with his hair and thinking vaguely that he needed to cut his hair, maybe. His bangs started to threaten his eyes soon if Paul didn't do something. Maybe he could cut his hair tonight, as he had already planned on staying overnight, as Cynthia was visiting her mother with Julian.

"I get it. More this and lesser writin', eh?"

He found himself smiling, and then, just like it would have been a reflex or then he had just wanted to do it so much, pressed down his hand on John's neck and brought their lips together, and they kissed and it felt even more wonderful than having the man's thigh in his mouth.

"Okay", John panted when they broke apart and smiled devilishly, "Next album will be full of covers."

And with that he surged down and kissed Paul again and Paul wasn't dying anymore.

He was in heaven already.

***

"Boys, _what does this mean_. I know you've been busy, but still, _eight_ songs. We're supposed to start working on the album tomorrow!" George Martin stood in front of them and Paul and John lifted their heads and snickered together before John answered:

"Sorry George, we've been so bloody busy that we really don't have any more songs!"

"You've been writing together more often than ever, almost every fuckin' free day we have and also on tours all the time!" George Harrison called from the other side of the room, "We've been playing with marbles so much that we could win the fuckin' olympics!"

"Well try to do somethin' else then, like write your own songs!" John shouted back and Paul patted at his jean-covered thigh, muttering, 'shut up', under his breath, getting John to look at him with glinting eyes. He blushed and turned his face away, meeting George Martin's angry expression.

"We'll do covers, okay? I know we have been writin' a lot, but it's jus' crap we have already destroyed, so... We can play our old Cavern numbers", he offered a soothing smile and George Martin's expression softened a bit.

"I know it's been a hard year for you and you are very tired, but please try to get more songs on the next album."

"Pinky swear!" John said with a hitch pitched voice and Paul slapped at his thigh this time. Their eyes met again and they both smiled, lifting their little fingers in the air and making a pinky swear.

"Now, off you go", their producer waved his hand, "I have some work to do."

"Yeah, in the coffee table", John cackled and all of them cracked up, laughing at George Martin's sour face while grabbing their stuff with them, jackets and guitars and cigarette packets. Then they made their way out of the studio, still giggling together.

"Okay", George yawned, "I think 'm gonna be asleep as soon as I hit me bed."

"Same here", Ringo rubbed at the base of his nose and stretched his back, "Might as well book a room in a hotel so we can sleep longer tomorrow, don't have to ride all the way from home."

"That a good idea. You two comin' too?" George looked with puffy eyes at John and Paul, who exchanged a glance, smiled and then shook their heads in unison.

"We're havin' a sleepover in my house", John grinned and Ringo rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, like always."

"Yeah, and your nose is not invited."

"Shurrup", Ringo shoved at John but he was smiling, and so was John. They got out of the studio and then, after saying byes and goodnights Paul and John headed to Paul's Aston Martin that they had used to come here too, as John didn't have a driving license and George and Ringo made their way to Ringo's car, ignoring the fans' yells in the night.

"You know what I wanna do tonight?" John asked when Paul had pulled on the driveway and had started to hum one of their new songs to himself.

"Well, what?" he arched one eyebrow then and glanced at John, who stared at him under his eyelids.

"I wanna play thighs and lips, how does that sound?"

"Bloody marvellous. I'm in."

"You fuckin' better be."

The lights on the side of the road flashed in the corners of their eyes and they smiled at each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are heartwarming I tell you.


End file.
